Hunting the Hunter
by rikkucheerio
Summary: She’s feeding my hunger, even from across the street.  I can already picture the things I’d love to do to her.  GorenOC Attempt at a case file.
1. Peccavi

A/N: I had started this as an SVU fic but abandoned that. If the first part seems familiar, it's probably because you read it on the SVUfiction site. I think I know where it's going now and hopefully I'll finish it. Thank you for the reviews and I'd appreciate constructive criticism. 

Sitting and waiting. And watching. I am always watching, carefully studying them, deciding who will become the next one. Always searching for the one who will satiate me, the one who will stop the hunger. And, for a while, it works, but it always returns. It starts with a pang low in my belly, slowly growing, filling my being, and consuming me whole. Like a junkie fixing for my next hit or a wild animal stalking its next meal.

They're all the same, too. They break so easily. And not just physically break; they break mentally just as easily. It's one thing to break bones with a flick of my wrist, but to be able to do it continually, to listen to her cry, is another thing. I love it when they cry, begging me to stop twisting their limbs at angles the human body was never meant to be bent at. Their cries are always so pitiful, yet underneath all the fear, there's hope and pride. Those two things are what I feed on, or rather, taking away those two things.

Across the street, a brunette steps out of a bodega, pulling her sunglasses out of her coat pocket. Her movement captivates me because she does it with a confidence I've never seen before. She obviously thinks she's the shit. If I looked like her, I'd think I were the shit too. She's feeding my hunger, even from across the street. I can already picture the things I'd love to do to her. Rip her black pea coat off, fill my hands with her hair, ravage her body so completely, leaving her gasping and crying my name…but I need to hold off, to delay gratification until I can actually have my way with her. I need to fend off the orgasm welling within me, wait until it's at its peak and I can't stand it any longer.

Her cell phone, it's ringing. I can hear it, just barely, over the noise of the traffic.

"Hey ass," she says. She has this sickeningly sweet smile plastered on her lips, one that's trying to lure me over to her and wipe it off with the back of my hand. "I can fly circles around you."

Who is she talking to, I wonder. A boyfriend? I hope not, they always make things messier than necessary.

"No, huh? Well, when I get back to the carrier, we'll have to test that theory. It won't be for a while, so make sure you practice."

I need to know her; to know all there is about her. This woman excites me like none have before. I learned about all the others, but they were dull, mere toys for my hands, stimulating only my body's most primitive responses, leaving my synapses longing for more.

Why this one?

She says more, but her words die before they reach my ears. What I heard was enough to whet my whistle, setting my nerve endings ablaze. Her voice is like a good cigar: smoky, soft, and completely addicting.

I have to have her.


	2. Hunting

Raegan flipped her phone closed and pocketed it again. She turned to her left, picking up her usual morning walk right where she'd left off before Sean's phone call.

Ducking into the Starbucks on the corner, she came out a few minutes later with her usual chai tea latte. Her long brown hair twirled behind her and her knitted striped scarf flapped against her chest as she walked down 42nd street. The sidewalk was crowded, full of post-Thanksgiving early bird shoppers with endless bank accounts and minds set on Christmas. Raegan didn't notice the scruffy man in a tattered leather jacket stalking a few feet behind her.

"Good morning, Charlie," she said to the man running the newsstand, still wearing her million-watt smile.

"Hey, El Presidente," he beamed using the nickname he'd given her. She stepped up to the magazine rack, leaning on it slightly.

"Anything today?" she asked eagerly.

He grinned at her, then bent down behind the counter in the small stand. Raegan got up on her tiptoes, trying to see where he'd gone. Soon enough, he popped up again with a magazine in his hands.

He handed it to her, and said, "There you go, my love; this month's issue of Air and Space Smithsonian."

She smiled brighter, taking the magazine from him. "Thank you, Charlie."

"Anything for you, doll. You're my best customer, after all."

She chuckled a bit, handing over the small wad of ones, and waved to him as she started walking again. She entered the Time's Square subway station and swiped her metro card, making a mental note to add more money to it next time she went through. She pushed through the turnstile and headed down towards the 6 train. She took up a spot on the platform next to a support column and waited for the train. She sipped her latte, leaning sideways every couple of minutes, hoping to catch a glimpse of the train's lights. She thought about how absurd this behavior was and that all New Yorkers seemed to be in such a hurry that they thought sticking their heads into the space above the rails would make the train come faster. Looking at her watch, she leaned on the column and sipped her latte again as she started flipping through her magazine.

A few feet behind her, the scruffy man stood watching her intently. His eyes were hungry, almost devouring her just by sight. He ran a hand through his dark hair, letting his fingers trail down his face to rub at his eyes behind his glasses. He inhaled deeply, trying to catch the slightest hint of her perfume, but was greeted with that distinctly unique subway smell consisting of a mixture of disgusting scents.


	3. Longing Belladonna

They're in awe of my work. I would be too if I were them. It's an art form, taking out my wildest desires on the human body with my bare hands. The best part is when she looks up at me, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Of course, I get just as much joy watching from across the street as the cops fumble around my canvas, looking for hints as to who I am, why I do what I do. They'll never get it. The NYPD is a hilariously incompetent and overrated organization.

Really, I just stand here, mere feet away from them and they have no clue. Tonight is different, though. They sent two women detectives. That isn't what makes tonight so unique. It's whom they sent. They're both gorgeous, but I'm more interested in the raven-haired knockout. I'm amazed that my body is responding the way it is so soon after the last one.

It'd be bold, brazen of me to go after her, but her image has been burned into my mind. I won't be able to cool my veins until I have her. I can hear her and her partner converse quickly in Italian and it just brings chills to my spine. Her voice, echoing in my brain, is powerful, the hint of hubris resonating within my imagination, eliciting my lips into a smile. Even from over here, I can feel her pride and confidence, washing over me. I want to grasp her chin in my hand, draw my finger along her strong cheekbones, to get her to beg. I want to break her down, all the while making her body submit to my needs.

I suck in a shuddering breath, trying to control my impulses as I walk around to the other side of the crowd, pushing my way to the front once again. I stare at her, just long enough to catch her gaze. She walks over to me, her dark eyes distant. She's hoping I'd seen something. Oh, I did. And so will you.

"Did you see anything?" she asks. I have to dig my fingernails into my palm to keep from giving myself away. My hands, safely tucked into my pockets, will never give away my anxiousness.

"I think I saw who did it," I reply, lying through my teeth. "Maybe I can ID him." The vaguest allure of a lead but enough to pique her curiosity.

She nods and calls over a uniformed NYPD minion. "Go with Officer Joe down to the precinct and he'll set you up with a sketch artist." The officer slips under the yellow crime tape and puts a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to the squad car. As we walk away, I can feel her gaze on my back. She doesn't believe leads come in this easily or this quickly. Again, my lips curl into a sick smile, causing me to bow my head.

"That detective, what's her name? You know, so I can give her any info I remember later," I say to the officer.

He looks at me curiously, but gives me exactly what I was looking for. "Andrea Viviano."

My gamble wasn't for naught.


End file.
